Foxglove (it's okay)
by cleria
Summary: You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him. [unrequited affection/ college au (sorta)]


You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him.

* * *

You're on the way to class when he touches your arm and calls out your name. Against your better judgment you turn to him. His eyes are shining brightly and he has a slight flush on his face. He wants to know how to ask out a girl and it doesn't take an expert to figure that he does not mean you.

You smile, once again against your better judgement, and tell him that she would love to go on a date with him and he shouldn't worry. He wants to talk more over a cup of coffee and you say okay because it's sort of like a date but not really a date. He still asked you though.

The coffee is overwhelmingly sweet and you want to spit it out but he ordered it for you. He's watching with expectant eyes as you gingerly take a sip and you can't bring yourself to look disgusted. You set the plastic cup on the table and look back at him with a smile. He asks if you're okay and you wonder if it's because he knows you don't like your drink or he knows that you are, in fact, not okay.

You ignore him and ask more about the girl he wants to ask out. He smiles a terrific smile, the kind that stretches your face and hurts in a good way. He rambles. Her hair is silky and falls in 'perfect waves' along with her eyes that seem to twinkle. She's bright and optimistic. She's feminine and kind. She is everything you are not.

You listen with bated breath while watching his face contort with happiness. He rambles on and on with nothing but glorious adjectives for the girl. You tune him out, finishing off your almost still overwhelming sweet coffee that leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

* * *

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him. You feel like you done something terrible like robbed a liquor store or swallowed pills and you're so tired.

* * *

He comes to you with the news of his new girlfriend. You grin and give him a high five, your hand stinging much like your heart. You tell him you're happy for him and it's about time that he finally started dating, it is college after all.

Your face is flushed and he pulls you along the corridors towards the girl's class, you're about to miss your next class and you don't care because he yanks you down the hallway with his hand in yours. It feels tender for almost a moment and his hands aren't calloused like your own.

She's small and pretty just like he said. Her hair does fall in perfect waves and she does have a gentle glow about her. She is feminine and absolutely kind. She is not you. You shake her hand, her hand isn't calloused like yours.

She is, by his account, perfect and he says so. It causes her freckled face to dust pink which only makes her lovelier. You begin to wonder that if she's perfect and is your opposite, then what does that make you?

He introduces you as his friend. He introduces her as his girlfriend. She chides him about the fact they haven't even been on a date. He only grins and obnoxiously puckers his towards lips at her, causing her to giggle. It's overwhelmingly sweet and like the coffee, you find it hard to swallow.

She asks you if you would like to hang out with them after school and briefly you consider saying no but his is grin directed at you and it's too much. You agree, jokingly telling her that if you didn't then who would be there to protect her.

He's indignant and slaps your arm. He fires back in a non-serious tone that if you're not careful you could ruin their relationship. You give what you hope is a smirk and tell him that he's a moron but an endearing one. You sort of wish it wasn't true.

* * *

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him. You feel like you done something terrible like robbed a liquor store or swallowed pills and you're so tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him you love him.

* * *

They seem to be in a permanent honeymoon phase. You're irked, especially so when you're all sitting in the floor of his dorm and their legs are entangled. They're laughing about something on the television and you're sitting with your knees to your chest as far away from their cuddling bodies as possible. You shouldn't still feel your stomach churn when they smile together.

You've found someone else and he's next to you but your legs are intertwined like theirs. Your smile doesn't match his. You know two boys and one wants to take you apart while the other wants to stitch you back together.

The other boy wants to reach his hand to hold yours but both of your arms are wrapped around your knees and your eyes are trained on the television with the occasional stolen glance to _the_ boy. Both boys love you, in different ways. Both boys have soft hair, gentle callousness hands, and slightly bigger front teeth that only make their smile more beautiful.

You grab the other boy's hand with no intention yet every intention behind it. Maybe he can stitch you back together, maybe he can stop you from falling apart, maybe he can be more.

You date him. The first boy, the boy you love, tells you that it's great and that he's glad that you found someone you like as much as he likes his girlfriend. Somehow it still feels like he's trying to take you apart.

* * *

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him. You feel like you done something terrible like robbed a liquor store or swallowed pills and you're so tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him you love him. Another boy clambers in the back seat with you. The boy beside you does love you and has, in fact, told you. He is not the one you love.

* * *

You feel guilty when you cannot return your boyfriend's confession. You feel guilty because you should love him. You should not still love the boy you loved in the beginning. He has a girlfriend. Your boyfriend is not crushed when you do not say it back. Your boyfriend understands and squeezes your hand with his.

A one year anniversary is coming up and it's not yours and your boyfriends. It's the boy and the lovely girl's. You feel guilty once again because you don't really know when your one year anniversary is.

The boy wants you to help him plan something for his girlfriend. You can say no but you don't. He plans it large and romantic. He doesn't know the meaning of moderation at all.

You go to a flower shop and you end up fiddling with the tag on the foxglove flowers while he muses over the tulips. The boy sees you, and reads out the symbolism of the flower out loud. He chuckles, shoving playfully and saying that he wouldn't give his girlfriend a flower that represented insincerity.

You like them though, they're said to sometimes hurt and sometimes heal. You end up getting them along with yellow tulips to give your boyfriend, they mean that he has sunshine in his smile. You can't bring yourself to give him the red ones that the boy has clutched in hands that represent true love.

Your boyfriend likes the flowers but knows that your heart in it. His smile lacks a little of the sunshine as he takes them from your hands. You watch as he takes a glass from his dorm's cupboard and fills it with water before sticking the tulips in it.

He sits it next to the sink and then asks about your flowers. You told him they were for decoration and with your lips drawn in a thin line, you leave.

You see the lovely girl the next day, bubbly and glowing as always. She has a new locket hanging around her neck and resting on her collar bones. It looks expensive and you know it is because it's the same one you recommended to the boy in the jewelry store that you both had went to after purchasing flowers.

She looks happy and you feel, once again, guilty when you wish she wasn't.

* * *

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him. You feel like you done something terrible like robbed a liquor store or swallowed pills and you're so tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him you love him. Another boy clambers in the back seat with you. The boy beside you does love you and has, in fact, told you. He is not the one you love. You're trying not to tell the other boy you love him and you're trying to choke down the feeling and you're trembling.

* * *

You hate unrequited love. You hate it. You especially despise it on nights like these where you feel alcohol burn its trail your throat. You know you're not supposed to drink this much, not at some small college party. Your boyfriend is there. He's gentle, he's rubbing circles on your back as tears swim in your eyes.

You wish the boy wasn't there. You wish his girlfriend wasn't there. More importantly you wish you weren't upset. Upset that the boy had said you about you and your boyfriend. The boy looks guilty and you feel satisfaction at the fact you're not the one filled with that bitter feeling.

It started when the boy and girlfriend had their first fight. They had bickered about something you didn't understand. Something about him not spending enough time with her. He double majors in math and chemistry, of course he's busy.

The fight had started on the way to the party, you had pretended to not hear it as your boyfriend turns the knobs on the radio. It escalated at the party and you had tried to step in out of embarrassment due to the staring eyes. That's when he said it. The boy told you that you shouldn't be one to talk, that you half-way avoid your boyfriend. That you just spend time with them and that it's partly your fault that they are fighting because you're so scared to be alone with anyone but him.

You swallow and his girlfriend gasps at his words. There's cotton in your mouth and you walk away from the fight before he can see the moisture pool in your eyes. You grab the nearest drink and let it slosh down your throat, feeling fire crawl up your esophagus. You wonder what it would be like if you had met the boy while wearing a pretty dress with your hair spilling down your back in neat waves. If you were more demure, or flirtatious.

You've drank maybe four cups before the boy finds you to presumably apologize and by then you're crying. He says sorry too many times and his words are filling your head, colliding against your skull. You want him to stop and you want to leave. Your boyfriend continues rubbing circles on your back.

You forgive him. It hurts.

"It's okay Artemis." Wally says.

You wonder if this is rejection.

"I know."

* * *

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he loves you. Maybe he doesn't. That's not your call. Maybe he doesn't love you but he loves the girl in the seat beside him. You feel like you done something terrible like robbed a liquor store or swallowed pills and you're so tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him you love him. Another boy clambers in the back seat with you. The boy beside you does love you and has, in fact, told you. He is not the one you love. You're trying not to tell the other boy you love him and you're trying to choke down the feeling and you're trembling. The boy you love reaches back and touches your arm and your heart takes root in your body like you've discovered something you don't have a name for.

* * *

 **a/n: inspired by 'You are Jeff' by Richard Siken. this is my first time writing something in a style like this i really enjoy writing in second pov an the poem just made me want to try this out.**


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